


They Make Centuries Seem Worthwhile

by flying_grayson_girl



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Artist Clarke, Barista Bellamy, F/M, Fallen Angels, fallen angel AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6836527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flying_grayson_girl/pseuds/flying_grayson_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of fics written for people who request on tumblr, primarily revolving around Clarke and Bellamy, but definitely open to other pairings and ships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Make Centuries Seem Worthwhile

**Author's Note:**

> Send me a “Together” and I’ll write a drabble about them spending their first night together (platonic, just sleeping) for Bellarke. For cupcakeblake on tumblr, who requested the prompt. I really enjoyed writing this!  
> This is from a currently in progress fallen angel au that I’m not sure if I’m ever going to finish, but here’s a drabble!

She doesn’t know how it happens. One moment they’re drinking wine and the next – Bellamy’s glass barely touches the surface of the coffee table before he’s suddenly kissing Clarke, lips moving fiercely against hers and her mind blank aside from the thought of Bellamy’s lips. Her wineglass droops and the white carpet is ruined, turned a bloody crimson as her hands find his hair. Fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as if he’s the air she needs (doesn’t need) to live.

Eventually they slow down, pulling apart with shy smiles and hands clutching each other with a kind of desperation that leaves them connected – a wish, a plea to never let the other go.

Bellamy follows Clarke to bed, clutching her to his chest while his wings – usually so still and dull – flutter and seem to glow with life. Clarke can relate, dimly remembers when her world was more than ruins and her father’s wings shuddered at the sight of Clarke’s mother. She thinks she might be grateful; her world might have fallen along with the angels, but without the ruins of her former home she’d never have _this:_ a warm body in her arms, affection in her heart.

It’s a bittersweet revelation, one that pulls her from sleep in the early hours of the morning and onto the fire escape, sketch pad in hand. She passes the note – written in Bellamy’s familiar, messy scrawl – inside the front cover with a fond smile before she finds a blank page, settling in on the stairs to pass the time.

What starts as a doodle turns into a page, turns into two, before Clarke is on page six and she can smell the telltale aroma of coffee on the wind that means Bellamy’s shop is open despite the fact that he never got up to say goodbye and –

“I told O to open for me today.”

Clarke perks up at the sound of his voice, turning to find Bellamy sitting on the windowsill with a knowing smile on his lips. She’s quite content with the sight, his usually neat curls turned into an unkempt mess and his shirt absent (she idly remembers removing it for him last night) despite the chill in the air. “I could practically hear your thoughts from inside. Which, speaking of, there’s coffee in there if you’d ever take a break from such a _useless_ pastime – “

“Hey,” She interrupts, grinning as she walks into his arms, sketch pad sandwiched between them. “I never said _useless_ , I just meant useless in comparison to the other things I’ve done. Like, you know, being a doctor and _saving peoples’ lives_. ‘sides,” She murmurs, smirking up at him. “I was just about to mention how I knew there was a perk to dating you: good gifts and even better coffee.”

“I knew you were just using me for my barista skills,” He snorts, dropping a kiss on her cheek with seemingly practiced ease before climbing back through the window. Clarke only takes a moment to stretch her wings before she looks inside, surprised to find Bellamy’s hand outstretched, her all-time favorite mug – another gift of Bellamy’s, “yes I am an angel, but so was Lucifer” painted on its side in elegant script – in his waiting hand. “Long day ahead. I was thinking of redoing some of the displays? Your choice, as always…”

The morning is simple, a kind of happiness Clarke thought was impossible after her father fell. But as Bellamy talks – smiling and animated – she realizes that she’s content. And if this is her life, Clarke realizes as she watches him, she thinks – _knows_ – she’ll be content. And that’s enough to make the rest of her centuries seem worthwhile.


End file.
